


untitled (with voyeurism)

by shihadchick



Category: U2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-03
Updated: 2003-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Larry and Adam share a moment.  Set early '80s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled (with voyeurism)

**Author's Note:**

> Fervent (and I do mean FERVENT) thanks to Mandi, goddess among betas, for her help. Also, thanks to Joy, Izzy, Kat and Lacy for their help at various points. I truly appreciate it. The fic was improved immensely for it.  
> [This fic is ollllllllllllllld. Fair warning. ;) ]

**********

I can feel your breath warm on my ear, and I know I'm tense, having you so close. Praying you don't notice.

Your lips brush across the back of my neck, so quickly, so lightly, that I can almost convince myself I've imagined it.

Adam? Don't mess with me like this. Please, don't...

I begin to croak your name, and you're hushing me, your hand coming up to close my mouth - God, your fingers are on my lips, Adam, this is not a good idea, in fact, I think this is a bloody BAD idea - and I barely, just barely, restrain myself from licking them. From sucking your finger into my mouth, running my tongue over the calluses and scraping my teeth over the blunt nails. I guess you could say my thoughts have taken a decidedly erotic turn, couldn't you? A faint blush creeps up my neck, but what the fuck do you expect me to think? Six feet of warm bassist pressed impossibly close to me, watching our two best friends kissing on the couch. We could just about be a fucking skin flick, Adam, with a scene like this. Dim room. A couple necking. A couple of voyeurs.

All we need is the bad soundtrack...

They don't know we're here. And the way they're going, it's not going to be just kissing for much longer. I shouldn't be here. Why the fuck did he have to show me this? I think I'd have believed him if he just came out and told me Bono and Edge were screwing around. It wasn't exactly a big surprise. But... oh, God, I really shouldn't be here. And I really really shouldn't be getting off on this. It's... Bono. And Edge. Together. I shouldn't find this the least arousing.

So much for "shouldn't".

I try to extricate myself from the room; don't even make it half a step before Adam has me again.

"Watch," he breathes in my ear, his voice almost inaudible, and his hand is covering my mouth and my protests, so I decide it's perfectly fair for me to close my teeth over one finger. God knows he's told me to bite him often enough. There's enough light for me to see him grin, feel his body shake as he laughs soundlessly, before, inexorably, his head turns back to the show on the couch. My own eyes follow his; compelled by something stronger than the shame and self-disgust I know I'll feel later. Stronger than the guilt that even now is colouring my thoughts, pulling my muscles ever tighter with tension...

Yeah, sure, Larry. It's just the guilt making you tense. The fact you're trying desperately to not be aroused, to hide how badly you want to be doing the same things to Adam has abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do with it.

God, Adam...

I can't quite hold back the quiet whimper as Edge licks along Bono's throat, bent over him, both clearly outlined, an erotic silhouette to rival anything I've seen in museums or galleries - or porn or magazines, for that matter; and the gasp that follows moments later as a warm mouth and warmer tongue sweep over my ear, biting gently on the lobe and sucking on the earring dangling from it is clearly audible.

Fuck.

One strangled moment as the world grinds to a halt. Oh... fuck.

And Adam is still licking my neck.

Christ...

Everything is frozen, at a complete standstill, and the only thing I'm aware of is him. I've been caught spying on an incredibly intimate moment, invading the privacy of two people I care very much about, but right now, all I'm concerned with is him.

Adam Charles Clayton, standing here with his arms around me and his hands all over me and- I try to clamp my lips shut on another moan as Edge and Bono spill off the couch and turn accusingly to the door- and goddamnit, he won't stop...

For Chrissake, Adam, there's a time and a place and it isn't now!

Adam, of course, doesn't bat an eyelid. His mouth is still busy on my skin, whispering dirty things into my ear, one eye lazily following the other two as they walk over to us. I'm shaking, whether from a desire to kill Adam, or kiss him, or both, I'm not sure, but aside from that I can't move a muscle, and I think I've lost the power of speech.

OhmygodthatmouthohfuckAdamthatMOUTH...

I realise the quiet moans I can hear are coming from me, finally manage to stifle them. Can't believe how fucking loud I am... how the hell do I look any of them in the eyes after they've seen me - heard me - moaning like a goddamned teenager? Making a fucking spectacle of myself.

Adam straightens up to exchange a mischievous grin with Bono. The two of them look perfectly comfortable. Perfectly relaxed. Perfectly fucking pleased with themselves.

Bastards.

Edge is blushing almost as badly as I am, and I manage to glare at Bono. I may be the sick fuck voyeur here, but I know how embarrassing it is to be caught like this. Quite intimately now.

Bono intercepts the glare, looks almost contrite as his arm slips around Edge again.

"Adam. Larry. Evening."

I try frantically to hold on to the veneer of civilised conversation and nod in reply. Adam's arm slides possessively around my waist, and even with my heart racing, my pulse echoing crazily in my ears, it dawns on me that we're mirroring them.

Bono, facing me, a little shorter than Edge, dark haired and cocky, all charm and confidence. Edge to his left, hair mussed and eyes wild, the both of them wearing that unmistakeable just-fucked look. And like a negative, Adam and myself. Both blond -if artificially- Adam with his arm around me, his marks on my neck, and me shaky and flushed. And still very, very turned on.

What the fuck do we do now?

Wrap this up quickly. With the least embarrassment to all parties. Possibly a "never speak of it again" promise. And then I can drag Adam back to my room and see if he'll make good on any of the things he's been whispering to me. I can feel guilty and dirty and like the worst kind of whore later; right now I just want to feel him.

Unfortunately, B doesn't want to cooperate. Makes it quite obvious that he knows we know about he and Edge. And that he thinks we're playing the same games. I want to protest, but given five minutes more with Adam, I'd have been on my knees singing the Hallelujah chorus...

I'd take anything he cared to give me, anything he wants to do with me.

God, I am a whore. So fucking easy. Just touch me and I'm yours.

Edge has shaken off his embarrassment quicker than I'd have expected, and he gives me a sympathetic grin as he pries Bono's hand away with a faint air of long suffering. I get the impression he's had a lot of practice. Bono gives him a pout worthy of Gavin, but doesn't seem too concerned by Edge toning it down in front of us, and at any rate, he's touching him again a second later, and Edge doesn't bother to move this time.

Not being the only one caught in flagrante must give you a certain amount of confidence that you're not going to be thrown to the lions for your sins...

Bono's still talking, ignoring the fact that all four of us are well aware that his fingers are sliding slowly under the waistband of Edge's jeans. He's stroking the guitarist's hip almost absently, and seconds later I can feel Adam mimicking the movement. I know I should protest, but I'm damned if I can care now.

"We're going to bed."

Bono says it with a smart-arsed little grin, just in case we hadn't quite got his meaning. "Talk in the morning?" he suggests, and then the two of them are disappearing rapidly up the stairs. Talk tomorrow. Oh, yeah, that'll be a pleasant chat, won't it?

And I'm alone with Adam.

Deep breath time. Say goodnight, Larry. Run away. Deal with this in the daylight, where you don't have to worry what you might do.

He takes a little step back, just looks at me. The first tiny trace of worry in his expression.

"Lar?" A wealth of meaning in that one syllable.

"I should have hit you."

He doesn't argue.

"I could have hit you."

Silence.

"And?" He is worried, and if I'd been just a touch less wrapped up in myself, I'd have picked it sooner.

"I..." my voice cracks again. God, I'm twenty-one years old, you'd think I could sound it.

I clear my throat and start over. "I wanted you to. Touch me." Fuck. That wasn't what I was going to say. Fucking hormones. Larry, just cos your dick is telling you to get some tonight doesn't mean that it's the right thing to do. Use your mind, boy. Remember? 'Don't screw the crew'. 'Mates before dates'. Dates... I blanch at the thought. I don't want to date Adam. He's a guy. I. Don't. Like. Guys. The thought intrudes that I like Adam. Ignore. That I rather like Adam touching me. Ignore. That I wasn't exactly complaining when Adam was doing things that I really shouldn't have enjoyed with me. Ignore it and it'll go away.

Of course, it's a bit late now, because his hands are on me again, and mine are at his shoulders and pulling him close, my head tilting back a touch, and his lips are pressed against mine. It doesn't quite work out at first, there's some awkward bumping of noses and I knock his glasses, but we wiggle around a bit and then the angle is right and I'm all over him, as if I'm trying to crawl inside. And then the world is going up flames behind my eyes, because he's crushed against the wall while I lick inside his mouth, his body hard and male and so achingly familiar as it presses into mine. His tongue traces my lips and his hands trace my ass, and one or both of us are moaning again; quiet, whining little moans of desperate desire.

"Oh, fuck... Larry..."

I'm mouthing his collarbone now and he tastes like salt and sweat and soap and home and maybe I'm a little hazy, because all I know is that it sounds like a good idea. And it'd feel like an even better one.

I tug his shirt off, and his hands are frantic on me, and I'm muttering his name over and over, in between hurried rough kisses. God, I want him. I want to drag him upstairs and- and that's where my thoughts shut down. Because what I want to do - what all our actions are leading up to - isn't something I could ever do lightly.

Regardless of how badly I want it. How badly I want him. Regardless of how often I've fantasised about this, dreamed about this. Oh, this is a fine time for my conscience to jump in, isn't it? To say nothing about the denial that I was doing so well with, too. Bloody hell. But the habits and morals of a lifetime are too hard to kick in one night, and I start pulling back. Start trying to think a little more logically.

'Adam', I remind myself. 'Want', says my body, but I'm starting to get it back under control. 'Friend', I tell myself. Obvious, maybe, but something I have to keep in mind. 'Bandmate'. Another obvious one, but something that must be considered, because anything we do will affect more than just the two of us. 'Important'.

And that's the one that does it.

Because he is.

Too important to let hormones and desperation take over. I break that last kiss, and step back. I can see the naked lust in his expression, and the faint confidence that I'm doing the right thing is rocked by guilt. Shaken, yes, but not broken.

"I can't do this." My voice is steady for the first time all night.

"Why?" He looks almost betrayed, and my heart twists.

"Because you're important. To me. To the band. I don't want this to ruin everything."

"Who says it'd ruin anything? Bono and Edge haven't ripped us apart. They saw me with you, Larry, you know what they think..."

He steps forward again, trying to be reasonable, trying to persuade me, his hand reaching for my arm. I pull back before he can touch me, before I can touch him. And that's it now; there's no way in hell I can trust myself.

"God, you can't even bear to touch me, can you? What, were you drunk before?" His voice is deliberately harsh, trying to cover up hurt, and I wince.

"That's not it, Adam." I can feel my feeble grasp on my emotions begin to slip, try frantically to haul it back, to not leave myself vulnerable with him again so soon.

"What, then?" He's almost shouting, and I shout back at him, my own temper dangerously frayed.

"Because I can't say no to you! I can't control anything around you, Adam, and it scares the shit out of me!"

I pause, take a breath, see the slowly dawning comprehension in his eyes. He's known me so long, knows how much I hate to admit a weakness, let alone how much I hate to have a weakness, and so I keep talking, trying to explain it to him. Trying not to lose him before he's even really mine.

"Adam, if Bono and Edge hadn't realised we were here... I'd have let you do whatever you'd wanted with me. I want you. God Almighty, do I want you. I just need to think this through a little more. We need to talk about it. And to talk to the others."

He nods cautiously.

"I can deal with that. Just - don't close me out, Larry, all right?"

"I won't." Pause. "I'm going to bed now." Cautious. Testing the waters. I can see the lust flare up in his face again, and I know it's reflected in mine, but we have to do this right. Or not at all.

His turn to pause. He seems almost afraid to ask.

"Do I get a goodnight kiss?"

One kiss can't hurt... can it?

Slow step towards him, and this time it's just a gentle brush of lips across mine, a sweet, tender kiss that leaves us both smiling.

My room seems nowhere near as cold or lonely as it did the night before when I reach it. I slide into bed almost on automatic, still smiling, body still humming from Adam. Thank you, God. I'm not sure whether it's more prayer or blessing, but I think it all the same. A thanksgiving, and a silent request for guidance. After all, it can't hurt to have Him looking out for us as well, right?

Feeling more at peace than I would have believed possible, I tug a sheet over me, taking some obscure comfort from the weight on my skin. It's far too hot here for the down-filled duvets I'm used to at home, but it seems vaguely wrong to sleep without something to cover me. I guess I'm just adapting slowly. Adam, on the other hand, was mouthing off something about sleeping naked the other day, wasn't he? Huh. Naked Adam. Now there's a thought I can drift off to sleep on...

And when I do sleep, I dream.

And in my dream I'm standing in a dark room, and Adam is kissing me.


End file.
